LAZIO DISTRICT,THE EROS EMPIRE; THE GARDEN OF EDEN CLUB'S LAIR, ROME IN ITALY... 12 AM.
It was the last Friday of the month.
A night drenched in shadow and expectation. A night where silence could mean survival, and absence spelled death.
The sacred meeting of The Eros Empire had returned once more,a brutal, binding ritual that all members were required to attend. There were no excuses, no sick notes, no missed flights. If you failed to appear, then you might as well dig your own grave. Because by the time the next meeting arrived, someone else would've already chosen the flowers for your funeral.
The meeting chamber sat deep within a secluded structure at the Empire's farthest edge, far removed from the eyes of the world. Its location was a secret. Its very existence a myth to outsiders. Inside, the air hung heavy,thick with incense, smoke, and the cloying scent of something sweetly perfumed.
A grand table, long and dark and gleaming, dominated the center of the room. Around it sat the Empire's most powerful seducers,each a monarch in their own right.
Rajesh Blackwood, brooding and calculating, represented The Blackout Brotherhood.
Vivian LaRue, seductive and ruthless, sat in quiet authority as the head of The Velvex Vipers.
Lilith Rose, icy and unreadable, from the notorious Siren's Lair.
Marcus Redding, ever composed, a dangerous enigma from The Red Room Society.
And Honeywell Morgan, once an exec under another's rule, now queen of The Honey Trap.
Each member radiated their own brand of command,charisma sharpened into blades, manipulation coiled like snakes beneath the skin. The hierarchy was unspoken, but it lived in how they sat. How they watched. How they moved.
The walls glimmered with flickering candlelight, the flames casting shifting shadows over etched wood and antique artifacts. Above them, a delicate chandelier spilled fractured colors like droplets of sin.
Then the temperature changed.
A silence swept the room like a blade as Uranta Downs of The Web of Desire entered. Just behind her, the air all but fractured with tension as Archon Xandros, the kingpin of them all,the puppetmaster of The Shadow Syndicate, and the undisputed ruler of THE EROS EMPIRE,strode in with commanding grace.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
No one had to be told.
One by one, they rose.
Not in greeting. In fear.
Archon moved to the head of the table, his presence magnetic and lethal.
"The Eros Empire..." he began, voice low and reverberating like thunder in a cavern.
"Deadly Attraction," they chorused, almost breathlessly.
"Fatal Allure..."
"Kiss of Deception."
"Seduction is our craft..." His voice laced with ritual and rhythm.
"Manipulation is our game." Smiles bloomed,cold, knowing.
"Desire is our currency..."
"Control is our goal."
And then, the final line,a chorus that echoed with the might of a thousand sins.
"SHADOWS ARE OUR DOMAIN!"
Laughter followed. Sharp. Wicked. Hysterical.
Archon sat first. Then Uranta. Only after that did the others dare take their seats.
What followed was the usual rhythm of power: hushed tones, careful words, calculated glances. Discussions carried weight, but their true purpose remained unclear. An hour passed. Then another. By 2AM, the masks began to shift. Archon's voice cut through the quiet like the snapping of a silk whip.
"There's an opportunity," he said, his eyes narrowing on every woman at the table. "A chance for any seductress-led club in this fraternity to rise to the second rank. Right beside me."
The effect was immediate.
The atmosphere jolted. The quiet shattered. Uranta's sharp gaze locked onto him.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice careful, but no less wild beneath its restraint.
Archon smiled thinly. "I have the biggest target in the Empire. And unfortunately"...he allowed a pause..."the target's a man."
Brows rose. Eyes twitched. The air turned acidic.
He watched them. All of them. Reading every subtle reaction. Their heads slightly bowed in contemplation, but their confusion radiated through the silence.
Only Uranta stared him down without blinking. Doubt, suspicion, and anger danced behind her calm expression.
"He's not an ordinary man," Archon continued. "Which is why I need the best executive to take him down."
Uranta leaned forward, her tone sharp as glass. "You know damn well I have the best exec. Greta is unmatched. And Kolly? She's a phantom. My club trains gods, not pawns."
Archon's stare hardened.
"When Honeywell was under your wing," he countered, "she was the best exec. But now she's her own leader. And I'll be the one to decide who the best really is."
Honeywell's lips curled upward, a subtle, smug smile betraying her pride. Her fingertips tapped the edge of the table. Oh, how she missed this.
Uranta scoffed. "What? You plan to test us all? Some kind of circus game?"
Only Uranta could speak to Archon like that. Years of unshakable power had made her untouchable,even to him. Maybe they were lovers. Maybe they were allies. Maybe they were both. But even Archon knew better than to cross her without a fight.
"I'm going to do just that," he said smoothly. "Same target. Same rules. The club whose exec succeeds... rises."
"And my position?" Her tone was threatening now. "You've said nothing about my position."
"If you think your high takedown count makes you safe," Archon snapped, "then you're a fool."
The insult landed like a slap.
Uranta's jaw clenched, but she didn't explode...not yet.
"The winning club takes the second rank. And if that's Honeywell's club?" Archon leaned back, letting the words slice through her. "Then she moves from seventh... to second. You drop to fourth. Vivian to fifth. Lilith to seventh."
Gasps didn't dare escape lips, but the shock hit like a current across the table.
"Yes, sir," the others murmured in reluctant unison.
All except Uranta.
Her fury trembled beneath her skin. "This is insanity. Your stupid test shouldn't affect my rank."
"It should," he answered coolly. "If your club can't pass a simple test, then you're not the best. The second rank is for excellence, not ego."
Uranta's blood boiled. "Even if we lose, I should only fall to third...not fourth."
She spat the word like venom. Vivian rolled her eyes in amusement, clearly enjoying the shift in hierarchy.
Archon arched a brow. "The gigolos aren't part of this test. They're exempt. This is for seductress-led clubs only. Which means your fall is fair."
But Uranta wasn't done. She never was.
Argument after argument spilled from her lips. She fought like a queen defending her throne with fire and claws. And when Uranta argued with Archon, time itself stood still.
No one else dared to speak. Not even Rajesh.
They sat frozen. Puppets on a string. The consequences of interruption were clear: lose your tongue,or worse, your entire legacy. Stand up before dismissal? Your whole clan could be obliterated.
So they waited. Faces masked, bodies still. But in every clenched jaw and narrowed gaze was pure, biting resentment.
And beneath it all, three women sat in silence.
Vivian. Lilith. Honeywell.
All deep in thought. All calculating.
What would the test be? Could their execs survive it? Outperform? Conquer?
Their eyes would occasionally meet across the candlelit shadows. No words were needed. The panic spoke loud enough in every glance.
None of them wanted to fail.
Who would?